“Well, I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to pay her back,” he said. “There’s no payment for that sort of thing. But if I can do her, or any of her people, a good turn, any time in me life—well, me missus an’ me would walk barefoot fifty mile to do it, an’ glad of the chance.”
“There’s no question of payment, as you say,” Mr. Weston answered. “We’re thankful it was our girl who saved them. Remember, the bull was mine—I’d never have forgiven myself if he’d hurt them. I’ve been wishing to goodness I’d shot the brute instead of selling him.”
“Oh, well, that’s simple waste,” said Tim Conlan, amazed. “You gotter remember he’s a real good Jersey!”
‟MOTHER, could Rex and I go for a picnic?” Billy’s eager face showed at the dining-room window. Behind him Rex peeped in, more sober, but evidently just as anxious.
“A picnic?” Mrs. Weston said, bewildered. “What, all by yourselves?”
“Well, there’s no one to go with us,” Billy said. “The Lawrences are coming out to play tennis, and _we_ can’t play when big people are there. You know it’s always a case of picking the balls up, for Rex and me, and a bit of extra cake is all we get out of it! And we’d love a ride. Couldn’t we take some lunch and go out? It would be no end of fun.”
“But is Rex safe? You know, he has never gone far without Father.”
“Oh, abso-lutely!” said Billy, with evident pride in the long word. “He really rides quite decently now, don’t you, Rexona?”
“I’ll give you a hiding if you call me that,” stated his guest.
“Sorry—it was a slip,” Billy said, grinning. “Forgot you didn’t like soap. But he can ride all right, Mother; Father says so. And we’d be awfully careful, and keep our weather-eye out for snakes, and all that sort of thing. Anyhow, the ground’s so bare you can see a snake half a mile off. Oh, do let’s go!”
“What do you say, girls?” Mrs. Weston asked.
“I don’t think they could damage themselves, do you, Jean?” Jo asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” her twin answered. “They’re really quite safe, if they promise to be sensible. I’d rather you didn’t jump, Rex, when you’re by yourselves.”
“All right, I won’t,” Rex promised eagerly.
“Well, you must ask Father. I couldn’t let you go without his consent.”
“Is that a poem?” asked Rex solemnly, “or just a ‘hidden-word’ competition?”